A Father's Burden A Father's Gift
by rudefool
Summary: Two alchemists, a hoard of death-cult-magic-bigots and a werewolf. Van Hohenheim and Remus Lupin contemplate the hardships of fatherhood and team up to find the prodigy son, Fullmetal, while Edward digs deep into the filth of magical Britian, leading everyone on a wild-goose-chase. All participants are in store for total chaos. Book 7/ Bro-hood(Redefinition sequel).
1. Chapter 1

After writing Redefinition, I felt an urge to continue. These two characters just work together. I hope you can enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it- and hopefully I whip myself into writing some more chapters. Also, there's a basic plot I have laid out, but I'm open to details, like who Ed meets and when father and son are actually united and if Remus actually gets a chance to apologize to Harry face to face. For those who have not read Redefinition, this is the Manga/Brohood Hohenheim. He's so much cooler than 2003, hit on all the young ladies Papa Hoho.

Chapter One: Fate's Vectors

It was night, like always, and the wretched, crimped streets stood in sliver light. From above, London could appear a mound of dreary luminescence rising from the black water around the British isles. Below, at ground level, everything was damp and dank and dull and any other adjective that sounded like the word 'grey'. Light reached the pavement at intervals like some regimented archipelago and the round spots stood in sharp yellow circles sparse in the night. Travelers spanned great lengths to each brighter area, as if they felt something would snatch them in the dark. There were very few people on the sidewalk.

A sign hung dimly above the street, half illuminated in red and blue. 'Underground' it read and the man below couldn't have found a more apt name for it. The stairwell along side did indeed go underground, but this suitability was less literal, it was a brand of cruel irony that dictated "Yes, a man can certainly go lower" and then guided him with that fading beacon of a sign.

The steps descended a conglomerate of concrete, metal, plastic and fluorescence. Each plane glimmered with sick grey light like the helter-skelter facets of some polished and distorted gem. A grey gem.

His feet were a harsh slap on each surface, the sibilance of water pressed between two forces. Further in, the light was buzzing and harshly white. The fixtures leveled out as the stairs ended and each was a dingy, illuminated rectangle extending deeper underground. Underfoot, tiles of an unidentifiable color reflected patches of oily highlights that stretched in streaks to either end of the hall. His stride was another smack on the floor, the residual wet amplifying in echoes off the curved walls. At the far end, a pair of dormant turnstiles tilted at an angle in anticipation of a corner. No one else approached. He was the only one looking to catch a train.

A couple pounds and a broken escalator later, he was standing on the platform straining to hear the metallic click of cars on tracks.

This station was one of the most unmaintained stops on the line. Across from the ledge and the tracks was the far wall. The concave surface was a canvas for vandals. A hoard of twisted font and shaky, sprayed on letters stood as a strange testimony for the anonymity in the massive, hectic world. The man sat on the provided bench in some odd reconstruction of a museum scene. He attempted decoding.

He stopped attempting.

He started his daily self-hate ritual that seemed only more consuming than normal. How fitting. There he was, sitting in a damp, subterranean tunnel, with such acute misery he may as well have melted like a sand castle in the rain. Slowly uttered with some disbelief was whatever higher power he believed in.

As if heeding his call, a wind picked up like some divine response. It was actually the train. Pressed from the tunnel was a startling breeze that whipped up discarded trash and deposited it in the trench alongside the platform. Empty water bottles and old newspapers and crinkled wrappers were flung to the tracks and promptly crushed by a set of metal wheels. He stood the meet the train, drawing his coat further around himself in the breeze. The locomotive burst into the space with a descending hum and finally halted to the high pitched electrical whirr of charged rails. A garbled voice announced something on the speaker, the doors opened with a chime. Sitting on the row of chairs facing the now open entrance, was very a distinct man. It was a surprise for both. Neither moved.

Slowly, they said the other's name with little regard for the waiting train.

"Van Hohenheim?"

"Remus... Lupin?"

There were now two men. One sat in the car, looking somewhat bewildered about who he had just discovered waiting on the platform. The other remained, shocked before the open doors, doing very little to get inside.

"Mind the gap between the train and the platform. Mind the gap." the intercom was a droning bass that did little to rouse either man. It wasn't until the bell rang a second time and the doors began to trundle closed did anyone react.

The blond man on the train leaped up to wedge his arm into the gap and a buzz rang through the cavernous space as the doors bounced back. Quickly the other man, Remus Lupin, slid into the car before turning to Van Hohenheim.

"Fancy meeting you here." He remarked with a fantastic calm that was regretfully not present during his conversation with Harry Potter earlier.

"Hmm. I didn't think wizards rode the Underground."

"I do when I'm trying to avoid things." the wizard who rode the underground took a seat.

"I see."

They both sat in silence reminiscent of a meeting more than a year ago

"I'm surprised you remembered my name." Said Remus with a twisted little half smile.

"Should I say the same to you?" Van Hohenheim prompted wryly.

"No, you happen to be far too remarkable to forget."

"And what makes you think you don't fall in that category?"

"I-" and the werewolf left his thought unfinished. He glanced at the alchemist next to him only to turn to the black window with a dismissive sigh.

They were sitting side by side on the patterned plush seats and the din of the train whooshing through tunnels rattled the compartment. Bits of the car creaked and the plexiglass windows made a scratchy, squeaking noise against the air outside. He doubted anyone else was in the train, barring the driver.

"It's hard to forget a man with such an ironic name." Hohenheim spoke airily and propped his head back to peer at Remus from the corner of his eye. The significantly younger man only shrugged.

"I fear it may have been a self fulfilling prophesy." he accompanied this with a light laugh because it was hard to feel bitter about things he never really felt bitter about to begin with. His parents, the two who granted him that horribly ironic name, loved enough to keep young Remus a happy, albeit lonely, child. It was hard to curse the world for that. Many in his situation had dealt with far worse. In fact, it seemed Remus Lupin suffered less from his physical affliction than he did from others who found his state sympathetic. To be concise, he felt the most pain from people caring. When people cared, Remus cared back and inevitably something bad would happen to them and the werewolf would be left to pick up the pieces. What Remus didn't realize was that this problem was quite common and stemmed less from being a dark creature and more from being human.

Remus wondered if meeting Van Hohenheim was an indication that his life had too many issues in need of solving. The fact that Van Hohenheim was pondering the same thing was almost unsurprising.

"I may need your help." the spectacled man sighed. He didn't often ask for assistance, but some deep urge in an equally deep part of his mind told Hohenheim that Remus might benefit from helping him.

"Hmm. What is the problem?"

"My son, I need to find my son. I feel he has gotten himself into trouble, as usual."

There was a period of heavy silence

"You have a son?" Came out as a slow, awe-filled whisper "A child?"

Hohenheim drifted his gaze to Remus who looked incredibly pale.

"Yes. Two sons, actually."

"How?"

"I hope I don't need to explain to you where children come from, Remus." Hohenheim answered with slight humor. Remus shook his head and attempted to gather words. It wasn't the physical 'how' he was looking for, rather a certain psychological state along with a strange set of ethics.

"No, not like that" the werewolf proceeded tentatively, suddenly nervous about what he would discover "I meant how you... allowed yourself to have them- I'm sorry, that must have sounded terribly offensive."

Hohenheim shrugged.

"I should never have allowed myself." he sounded old and his hands were bunching his trousers near the knee.

"I know I shouldn't have, but my sons are my greatest pride. I do not regret having them." a short bitter laugh "Although they may regret having me."

Wistfully they sat on the train, the only noises rattling the compartment and howling through the tunnels.

"I'm going to have a child too." Remus said softly with potent self-loathing.

"With the young lady you told me about?"

"Nymphadora? Yes. I've done her so much wrong."

"I'm sure she doesn't feel that way."

They had gone by two stops, the doors trundling open to empty platforms, a voice echoing through caverns as each station was named.

"Of course she doesn't feel that way. My wife is a very stubborn woman. It is hard to make her see what she does not believe."

"A stubborn woman for a stubborn man." Hohenheim mused with an arched, golden eyebrow. Rather than taking offense, Remus merely gave a short, rueful laugh.

"It seems I'm destined to meet you every time my life is in complete shambles."

"I could say the same."

They both shared an ironic chuckle before feeling incredibly uncomfortable with their unfortunate camaraderie.

"I can help you with your son."

Hohenheim turned to Remus with gratitude in his golden eyes. The werewolf continued as if verbally cementing a notion in his own mind "I have a feeling fate likes throwing us together." he grinned, a certain, wry wit dominating his gaze. "We might as well find out why."

Hohenheim nodded and asked suddenly,

"Well then. Do you want to ride to Heathrow?"

Remus peered at their reflections in the dingy glass across from them.

"Do we need to catch a flight?"

"No. I just figured we'd start our search at the end of the line." the alchemist closed his eyes in anticipation of the long ride.

"I hope you're ready to meet Edward." an then as if the thought only just came to him, the immortal added "And I hope you're ready to meet you own child as well."

Brow furrowed and jaw set, Remus Lupin heeded his companion's words and readied himself for the rest of his tumultuous life.

"I hope I'm ready too." and the softness of this conviction was lost in the screech of wheels through the tunnels to the end of the line.

* * *

The world was full of rot. It was an inevitable fact of life: for every decent person, there would be a trio of bad, for every good deed, a score remained acts of meanness.

So, it was with this reasoning that the worst of a place managed to find Edward Elric. Deep down, under any shining facade, is the true decay of character. In this country Ed had found himself flung into, one didn't have to dig too far to find that decomposition; in England it only took a gloved hand to scoop away the shallow layer and, Oh! Talk about rot! They didn't even try to disguise it. True to honest democracy was the genuine ease of lies and answers to pointed questions so sincerely full of nothing they could have filled a thousand campaign balloons with air. After sifting through false smiles and needless fluff, Ed pierced the shell of some gaping cavern of deceit. In this grand space, styled with neoclassical columns and Grecian statues, the young alchemist found the very source of rot.

The source defied any logic.

Fervent in his desire to uncover, Edward had grasped the most vile of leads. It had something to do with magic (scientifically unexplained), plenty of bigotry, and two big red 'X's in his book: immortality and riches. The whole plot stunk of money like the rusty taste of blood in one's mouth.

One man stood at the head. He had a ridiculous name and a certain flamboyant flare for mass murder. A question for the universe could be: " What kind of person names their son Voldemort and expects the kid not to be a genocidal maniac?". Ed didn't need to know that this name was actually made up as the humor derived from the earlier notion lightened the situation's gloom somewhat.

Voldemort stood before his minions who were, apparently, very hungry for death. In the dark of the forest clearing, the bone-white of his skin glowed and his eyes glittered with a reptilian greed. Surrounding their leader were rows of masks, almost floating amidst dark cloaks. They appeared to be macabre puppets of a very macabre puppet show, skulls hanging in the air like marionettes. There had to be at least 50 of them. Ed wasn't sure why the nasty doom cult hadn't spotted him yet- not that he wanted to be found- but he was glad not to have experienced their freaky, science defying magic first hand. Certainly, there were moves Ed could pull for escape, but he would rather avoid confrontation all together. The weapon of choice for these fanatical stick shakers had no formula the alchemist could comprehend. A power he knew not was a power he would prefer not to fight.

Below, Spoilsport was regaling his followers, who seemed to be crowding inwards because their leader's voice was too much like a full grown man speaking through a straw to be heard properly. From what Edward could actually catch, they seemed to be preparing for some kind of raid. Most likely a pillage, rape, and plunder sort of raid. It was plenty disgusting to think these people considered themselves as superiors in their society when they were reverting to such medieval, barbarian practices. Still, with riches and immortality it was easy to turn any weak-minded person into a bigoted, idiot-drone. Those were very motivating incentives.

Up on his branch, Ed scoffed fiercely, but remained frozen. Words from members on the outskirts reached his ears

"...Potter? Little bastard's probably off with those Weasley blood traitors..."

"...D'you think the Muggles'll scream if I vanish their mouths?..."

"...Black family reject. She caught me a few years back, that little shape-shifting bitch..."

"...The Dark Lord will surely win. The pitiful Order fell apart as soon as the Old Fool died..."

Most of this was complete gibberish to Ed, who was still researching this dirty spot of decay. In fact, the whole reason he was up in a tree witnessing some Neo-Nazi, magical death cult meeting was for the sake of research. He just hoped the hours spent clinging to the rough bark was worth it. Information was the key to taking the freaky doom gang out.

At his podium, Mu Shu Pork was finalizing his speech of glorious bloodbath and Ed was stuck in his tree thinking hard about how he would save all the people sure to be pillaged. There needed to be some kind of plan, a strategy that the opposing force would take some time to decode. Unfortunately, his brainstorming was cut short when he shifted his gaze back to Voldemort who was reveling in his minions' applause. Slit-like red eyes met Ed's golden pair. Like wind across a field, the masks turned as if a wave crested. Half a hundred faces were upturned, all looking at Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Damn."

Was all Ed could find in himself to mutter. He would have to think later, not he would just have to run. High-tail it out of the dirty cavern full of rot. Flee as fast as possible to someplace where he could hide- like the city. At least fifty wands were pointed in his direction now.

Steadying himself of the branch, Ed poised his hands. With a resounding clap, everything exploded.

A.N.: things didn't actually explode, though. Just the... Activity became... Explosive? Whatever. Hopefully there will be some more chapters of this. Summer's almost here so expect updates on those hot, sexy months.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N.: Hot damn. You guys are very kind and I am currently wearing the sickest set of coral red shades, basking in your kind words and all that very generous junk. Sexy summer months come soon for me as I am a high school senior and graduation is the 27th of May. Hopefully this update happens before that. If not... Sorry. In this chapter, we learn about Alchemy and the curious effects this science has on assemblies of magical-Neo-Nazis. We also follow our two badass dads, (or is it dadass bads? Actually, ignore I did that- wait, ignore everything I say. Nothing I say is relevant to life whatsoever.) who learn about a wealthy, very well endowed man-hair wise- and his very big house in the country.

The adventure continues!

Chapter 2: Inconvenient Parallels and Absent Perpendiculars

There was a certain glory in betraying every expectation of others, a giddy pleasure of proving everyone wrong. Edward Elric knew this feeling well- sorely so, as it meant people regularly underestimated him. Maybe it was because of age or experience or stature, for whatever reason, opponents were always sizing Edward up short (and not just because of his height).

So when half a hundred Death-eaters whirled their wands in his direction like Edward Elric was the bloody magnetic pole, he indulged in a smirk.

The clap of his gloved hands resounded through the clearing and Ed allowed himself a plummet to the ground where said hands were placed. Lightning coiled along the earth, the sound of something colossal moving rolled across the wood and the scent of ozone filled the air with a certain calm before the storm. Exactly 63 rocky fists burst from the ground, leaving behind impressive craters as they formed their numerous masses. Every member of the Creep Cult found themselves captured in the earthen hands, all in varying degrees of compromising positions. Unfortunately, some still had arms available for ferocious wand-waving and did so accordingly. The mess of giant clutches was lit by a flurry of spells that bounced between the massive wrists like horizontal pyrotechnics. Ed dodged like a master feeling quite refreshed by the way he caught his opponents by surprise.

Suddenly, to his left, a hand exploded with a shout of "Reducto!"

Rubble burst into the air, dust peppering Edward's red coat and clouding his vision. He allowed himself to cough in the chaos and things whirred by frighteningly close. Somewhere deep in the middle of the newly created rock formations, Lord Volvomart was shrieking with a hissing rage, words incoherent in the explosions all around. Ed guessed they had something to do with death-particularly his own death- and proceeded to feel very unthreatened. Plenty of immortals had tried to kill him before. Snake-man was nothing different. To count the number of instances that the Fullmetal Alchemist received some death threat of any kind would require the growth of numerous extra fingers. Obviously his enemies were mostly talk seeing as he was still very much alive.

So he dodged another flying light and considered his next move. He could, of course, take the opportunity to escape during the confusion, but that would do little to protect the potential Viking-pillage-style victims of the next village over. Upon further thought, Ed found that the best conclusion was to continue the mess until the whole lot forgot about their nefarious plans completely. In all honesty, this was not something the Fullmetal Alchemist was in any way excited for, but it would be spectacularly unfortunate for that nearby population of Non-magics to experience what was scheduled for them that evening.

A crater would do these Deatheaters some good.

Feinting nimbly to one side, Ed clapped and dropped to the forest floor. The ground itself dropped down and the hands fell away as the whole cult found itself in a deep pit. From his position above them, Ed nearly laughed, but this golden opportunity was snatched away when he had to dodge another whirl of green light. He hopped to the wall around the depression that had risen as the earth fell.

Rubbing his hands together, Ed prepared to close them in.

A voice interrupted his progress, however, rising over the general unhappiness of the crowd in the hole.

"Who in bloody Merlin's name are you?"

Ed gave them all a generous dose of satisfied smirk.

"I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist!" He shouted to the gathering "And you'd better not forget it!" With that he closed the lid over the mass of murdering witches and wizards.

Still smiling, Edward Elric turned and started on his way back to where he came from. That had been a somewhat fun experience- not to different from sword-dueling a hornets' nest. He sauntered away from the covered pit with little care. There was a hole in the top for air. They wouldn't die.

The Fullmetal Alchemist's whistle floated through the forest. He was pretty damn pleased with the way he took down all those magical Nazis.

All was disturbed when a figure materialized before him with a crack.

"Hello Fullmetal Alchemist," it hissed to him with soft, menacing cadence "I am the Dark Lord Voldemort, and I know you won't forget that."

Suddenly, things weren't nearly as enjoyable as before.

The last train to Heathrow revealed the harried hoards of travelers and their permanently affixed briefcase arms. It was late, but the airport was its own bubble of time, set apart from any other zone. There, the sun never set and the endless fluorescent lights shined on. The building itself was a mass of grey, a behemoth camouflaged in the city's coloring, only blatantly visible for its size. The architects did a commendable job making it as ugly as possible.

Instead of entering a terminal, both men pushed through the turnstiles and out the stretch of automatic doors. The night that greeted them was just like before- only it found the situation suitable for a bit of light, chilly rain that only fell in spaced, heavy droplets. Caught in the air, was the smell of oil and industrial things. Things with gears and pistons and definite purposes. Both men often wished for definite purposes, but life wasn't keen on dictation. Life liked a little ambiguity. "Let them find their own way." It said. Van Hohenheim and Remus Lupin had a lot of trouble with that philosophy.

"So." The alchemist stood before the barren strait of land, wondering.

"So." The werewolf saw through the rain the faint lights of civilization, rising from flat fields like distant mountains.

"We don't have a plane to catch."

Both were struck by their own indecisiveness. Above, as if to draw the men from confused stupor, a plane angled for the runway, appearing in the night as a dark shape with a few pricks of light, some great beast swooping under the muted amber glow of the sky. Any word they had for each other was smashed under the impressive roar of the engine and high-pitched whirr of turbines. Wind kicked up and fell just as suddenly.

With the abrupt calm both were reintroduced to their uncertainties.

"Where do we start?" Remus rubbed dust from his eyes and pondered his own question.

"You know how to apperate, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well then. Where are His headquarters?"

"You know who's?" the werewolf asked, name unwieldy on unpracticed lips. Van nodded.

"Malfoy Manor." Calmly, Lupin calculated distances and safe apperation points.

"Why is your son at Malfoy Manor?" He asked

"It's only speculation, but if Edward has gotten as far as I think he has with his research then he's probably been captured."

At this, Hohenheim received an impressively raised eyebrow.

"You speak of your son's potential imprisonment lightly."

The spectacled man gave his companion a sideways glance.

"Situations like these are not uncommon for Edward. He had a talent for getting into all sorts of trouble." Van Hohenheim explained with continued levity.

"I know another boy with such a gift."

"Harry Potter?"

The wizard nodded

"They like to make us worry, don't they?"

"Of course. I think it's Edward's way of testing me."

"Testing you?"

There was a pause. No planes flew over.

"Don't make the same mistake I did, Remus. Stay with your child and they will never doubt your love."

The immortal turned to the other man, face folded into hurt beyond even his over 450 years of age. Remus readied a hasty line of consolation, but shut his mouth over its inevitable inadequacy.

"So, Malfoy Manor?" He spoke turning away from Van Hohenheim and holding out an arm. The other man grasped it.

With a crack they swirled out of space and flashed back to existence.

It took massive concentration to quiet the noise as both burst through the gap of air made by apperation. Remus felt the hand on his arm slide away while he blinked spots from his vision. Apperating that soundlessly took a good bit of energy, but it was necessary to avoid detection. Quickly, he cast a simple 'notice-me-not' charm before continuing with a line of more complicated spells. It wouldn't do anyone any good if the duo got captured on their mission, only to need a rescue party themselves.

Their surroundings held damp, English forest, complete with brier and thorn. Cloak and trousers snagged themselves on the dark foliage. As if to contradict their own stealth, both men briefly lost all coordination and stumbled though the brush like a herd of erumpets. Remus fell in a surprisingly deep puddle. Van found himself entangled in the eager embrace of a wild raspberry bush.

A short laugh rolled from the alchemist's lips. "If Ed could see me now..." With another chuckle, Hohenheim began plucking thorns from his coat.

"Some rescuers we make." Remus muttered a drying spell and tugged off his cloak. He fumbled in the dark, refusing to light his wand, until he reached his companion. By then, both men had adjusted to the lightless forest and the werewolf took the opportunity to shove the recently removed clothing deep into the bush Hohenheim had just freed himself from.

"Sometimes I wonder why wizards wear these things." Remus explained "They can be such an inconvenience."

Cloak abandoned, the two proceeded.

"The manor is southeast from here."

Hohenheim nodded, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. "How should we approach it?" He asked, peering between trunks. Remus carefully maneuvered over a fallen limb.

"My source told me that much of the manor is out tonight, so security will be lighter." The werewolf rolled up his sleeves, unconsciously mimicking the man beside him. He even put his hands in his pockets. Both were lost to the irony, already focused on the task at hand. They were rather similar men after all.

"What can you do with alchemy?"

"Plenty of things. What are you thinking of?"

Lupin's eyes sparked in the dark, briefly illuminated a fantastic hazel.

"A tunnel."

Van Hohenheim glanced to the side, nearly smiling.

"Easy."

Hands still in the depths of either pocket, the immortal alchemist blasted through the earth before them. Remus was visibly startled, he had certainly not expected such direct, raw power. The air tasted strange. His hair stood on end. Red twists of lightning illuminated Hohenheim's stony face. There was no joy to this strength. The alchemist looked practically in pain, witnessing his own art.

The swirls of plasma died off fast leaving behind a gaping circle of liquid black. Remus looked to the man and back to the opening created.

"How does it work? Alchemy isn't magic, right?" He asked, peering intently into the darkness.

"Alchemy is a science." Van Hohenheim explained, "It is based on principles similar to conservation of mass- or Gamp's law. I made this tunnel by compacting the earth. The walls are now made of denser rock rather than dirt."

The werewolf lit a handful of bluebell flames and drew his free hand across the newly formed stone. The otherwise smooth surface was marred with strange scales, geometric in shape and pattern. He was beginning to wonder how much of a burden the gift of alchemy was for Van. The man looked so weary as he described the laws of the science. Remus almost regretted asking him to preform the transmutation-almost.

"If it's not magic, it should be undetectable. The wards around Malfoy Manor cover about a two mile radius. They report any unidentified magic." The werewolf allowed himself a grin. "The Deatheaters won't know what hit them."

They both stood before the tunnel's mouth in the shivering light. There was a strangled excitement about the pair- similar to a vandal's mindset before breaking a law. Remus, the true Gryffindor he was, banished any pressing fears to the back of his mind. Certainly he had less fright than others, but the wizard was not a fool. He knew to give a reasonable amount of terror to particular things- Voldemort included.

Van Hohenheim had lived too many years and been killed too many times to be fearful of a few men and their magical sticks. He remembered back when the first guns were brought into Creta a couple hundred years back. He had been staying there at the time, trying to diffuse a burgeoning revolution and civil war. While it may have been a new way of death for many, the weapon only cemented the sorry state of his immortality. No matter what humans created, Hohenheim would never join them in their final resting place. Wands were, no doubt, of little difference. So the alchemist settled for an air of calm determination- if only to make up for Remus's veiled anxiety. The werewolf may have been a veteran, but even veterans were unprepared for war. Every being is unprepared for war, Van would reason with himself often, only a 450 year old man could truly face such bloodshed with apathy. Except said man couldn't honestly say he was indifferent- far from it. Even after centuries, Hohenheim couldn't really steel himself for the shock of death. Instead, each passing shook him to the bone, thoroughly reminding him of every failure that lead him to his state. The world seemed overly cruel at times.

"Remus."

"Hmm?"

"Edward may not be there..." Words trailing off at the end, Hohenheim turned and gave the wizard an apologetic look.

"I realize that. There are some members of our resistance being held in the manor. If your son is not there we can at least save them." Remus closed his fist around the flames, extinguishing them. "We've been waiting for an opportunity to rescue our men. I hope you don't mind that you happen to be that opportunity."

The alchemist made a soft noise in the newly reborn dark.

"I don't mind at all."

And they climbed into the black.

Edward Elric tasted dust. At the moment, that sense was the only one working properly. Everything else was muffled and blurred. It was very disorienting. His vision was a never ending field of black while he was sure his eyes were open. Maybe his nose was working too, but it seemed to be in a similar situation as his mouth. Slowly, Ed became aware of the surface he was pressed against. It felt uneven through his clothes, cold, wet and hard. He was on the floor somewhere with his hands locked in some kind of restraint. So far, things didn't seem too plesent.

There was a voice above him, hazy and garbled. It was not yet clear whether it belonged to someone of friendlier intents, but the cadence of it irritated the Fullmetal alchemist. Further listening revealed a male's voice that sped in frantic tangents. Ed's head throbbed; he would have to wake up and tell the man to shut up. This merited an impressive groan.

Noise in the space stopped and Edward took his time cracking open his eyes- which, after further evaluation were actually closed. They seemed to be glued shut. He struggled for vision and jumped when something came to rest on his flesh shoulder. All over he felt a deep soreness, soaked into his bones along with an ever-present damp. Ed guessed the thing was a hand as the cold was banished from the spot it rested.

"They didn't hold back on you, did they, lad." A series of shuffles sounded from Ed's left as the man audibly settled beside the incarcerated alchemist.

"You don't say." Was the Amestrian's dry response- he was terribly parched.

"Said you took the Cruciatus curse five times in a row! You must have the constitution of a hippogryph to take that pain!"

Memories of curling into the floor, shivering with agony, returned with dreaded urgency. If Ed recalled correctly, the experience was similar to being deconstructed and reconstructed. It was terrifying that such seemingly frivolous wand waving could make it feel as if one was being torn apart molecule by molecule.

"I've had some experience with pain." The State Alchemist said with no small amount of resentment and finally pulled his lids from the gunk dried in his lashes. Desperately wanting to rub the grit from his eyes, Edward lifted his manacled hands to his face only to bump heavy wood against the bridge of his nose. He winced. His head throbbed.

"Well I'm glad you're up and about- even after all you went through!" Came a shrill voice at his side. It merited yet another dull thud of pain in Ed's cranium. Slowly, as if grinding sand between two heavy rocks, the Fullmetal Alchemist turned to his cell mate.

"Daedalus Diggle. And what is your name, young man?" A short, tattered looking wizard crouched next to him in what looked to be the remains of a purple window dressing. He held his hand out in greeting, as if meeting new people in dark, medieval prison cells was common happenstance.

"Edward Elric." The alchemist responded past his confusion. For a prisoner, this man was awfully cheery.

"And what got you in You-Know-Who's bad books, Edward Elric?" Daedalus asked, retreating to a water damaged wooden bench along the cell wall. He looked oddly at home. It took the younger prisoner a moment to recall the identity of the 'You-Know-Who' fellow.

"I trapped about 60 of his men in a hole." Was Ed's rather nonchalant answer as he struggled up without help from his trapped hands. After the torture he endured, his legs weren't to cooperative- automail included.

"You trapped them in a hole? That many of them?" The wizard squeaked.

"That's right." Ed said with some pride. "They didn't stay in the hole, though."

"I suppose not!"

There was a pause when Edward crashed down onto the bench beside Daedalus. The plank buckled and rattled questionably against its fastenings, but held both men.

"How is it you guys can teleport? What are the physics behind that?" The alchemist asked suddenly.

"Teleport? What is that?"

"You know, the way you vanish in one place and end up in another."

"You must be talking about apperation."

"Yeah. That thing. How does it happen?"

As if caught by a sudden, very exciting thought, Daedalus jumped and the bench gave a horrific creak.

"Are you a Muggle?"

Ed was familiar with that term. It had cropped up early in his research.

"Maybe. Not really sure what I qualify as around here."

The violet garbed man looked terribly lost.

"Then what do you call yourself elsewhere?"

Ed grinned, stretching the sore skin on his face.

"I call myself an alchemist."

Perhaps the two men could have entered a den of snakes with more subtlety. Maybe they wouldn't have appeared as fresh meat, bursting forth from a cloud of rubble with target signs painted wide across their forms. Remus and Van had invited the black mambas to strike and strike they did.

It was strange that Lupin had proceeded without any discernible plan. It was a very out of character move, but Hohenheim had a certainty about his person that made the werewolf plunge into action. Whether or not this certainty had any backing proof was not yet apparent. Unfortunately, the faults of the mission were mostly due to the werewolf's miscalculations: it wasn't as if the Order had maps of the manor.

With their information lacking, it only seemed inevitable that the pair would burst from the ground in the most inconvenient place possible. An inconvenient area like the Malfoy's currently occupied lower-level powder room seemed the perfect candidate. Of course that was where they ended up, right beside an already shaken Narcissa Malfoy who appeared to be finding solace in applying eyeliner. A woman like her gathered comfort from makeup during hard times. The sudden appearance of Van Hohenheim and Remus Lupin prompted the lady to draw a dark, jagged, oily line down her cheek. For a few silent seconds, she only stared at the sudden intruders, pencil still poised at the end of its trail. The three made eye contact through the overly ornate mirror above the sink before bursting into action. Lightning-quick, Remus drew his wand as Narcissa made to grab hers, but dived for the door and flung it open instead. Van only remained where he was, hands in pockets, still digesting the fact they had just interrupted a lady in the bathroom. This inaction resulted in the door continuing its inward and powerful swing until it reached the alchemist's face. The sound of wood meeting nose supplied an audible crack and the motion continued as Hohenheim flew back and smacked his head against the wall. Remus had moved to the threshold, firing spells at the woman's retreating back as she screeched for her husband and alerted the whole house of its intruders.

"Well, that was unsuccessful." Was all Remus could say as he turned back to Van. The immortal was rubbing his nose with one hand, ruby sparks flashing between fingers, while the other held his now battered spectacles.

"It was." came Hohenheim's response.

"Should we retreat?" The werewolf gave the still gaping hole in the floor a significant look when asking this.

"I don't see the need to." Somehow Van's glasses were back in one piece. He perched them on his nose and stepped past the wizard.

"There's not much these wizards can do to harm me."

Hohenheim greeted the hallway, face passive as the sound and many jumbled footsteps crescendoed. The alchemist certainly looked formidable. A decided step sounded beside the spectacled man. Remus stood beside him, wand curled tight into his hand and a formidable fervor in his eyes. They both poised for the oncoming storm (although Van kept his hands in his pockets).

A clatter of maddened heels sounded and someone crested to grand staircase across from the pair. Malfoy Manor, in all its ornate opulence, seemed to harbor the scummiest of scum.

"Well!" Van Hohenheim squinted at the woman speaking down to them. "Well!" She barked again with the garnish of an unnecessary cackle "If it isn't saint Halfbreed! Having fun with my little freak niece?" Bellatrix Lestrange shouted with a sharp, hungry look. A crowd of masked Death-eaters gathered behind her, looking ridiculously stoic compared to expressive, crazed woman.

Below, still stationed at the powder room door, both men withheld any response.

"And who's your little friend? Eh? You must need new ones after all you old ones died!" She laughed and descended a single step with the bravado of a celebrated monarch. Remus's wand snapped up and Bellatrix's eyes widened with false fright.

"Not too fast werewolf." she warned, a feral grin returning as she fingered her own wand "We wouldn't want your new friend to join dear cousin Sirius, now would we?"

Hohenheim glanced to his partner. Remus's face was emotionless, but pale. The wizard's knuckles were white around his wand handle, though.

"I'm afraid Remus won't have to worry about any of that happening." Van told the Death-eaters calmly, as if informing them an item was no longer on the menu.

If Bellatrix possessed a mind more sane she would have looked properly affronted at the alchemist's words. Unfortunately, the witch could never hope to make such claims of stability and reacted accordingly. Her face warped from a twisted smile to seething rage in milliseconds, the masked figures behind her shuffled back.

"And who are you?" Bellatrix's words were spaced and forceful with very short fuses.

"Van Hohenheim." The blond didn't even move. He continued under the woman's murderous glare with a slight furrow between his brow and hands still deep in his pockets.

"Well! It was spiffing meeting you Van Hohenheim!" The female Death-eater suddenly cooed with what could be considered hospitality if one thought inferi were good bedfellows. "And I'm sure it will be spiffing saying goodbye!"

In a flash her wand was whipped around and accompanied by a delighted shout of "Avada Kedavra!"

A green light ripped towards the alchemist who did not budge. The air rushed away from the curse as if disgusted by its nature. It crackled with hungry darkness.

Remus flung himself over Van Hohenheim and the pair crashed to the floor as the spell fizzled out on the wall above them.

"You do understand that would have killed you." Remus said lowly, words firing out urgently.

"It wouldn't have killed me."

"It's the killing curse, Van. It kills you."

"Not me."

Their rushed conversation was graced by the background noise of Bellatrix's hysterical laughing.

"All your friends are fools, Halfbreed! They will die!" And with no further preamble, she rushed down the remaining stairs, brandishing her wand. Both men turned as she made a furious swipe.

"Don't think I will spare you either, werewolf!" She stumbled, still howling with macabre laughter.

Remus knew an opening when he saw one and he fired off a whirl of red sparks with a muttered "Stupify." Bellatrix rose to meet the spell, slightly confused by her little stumble, and it hit her dead on in the forehead. As her stunned figure crumpled to the floor, the fellow Death-eaters took their cue to pour from the stairs like a flash flood.

Remus was slightly shocked to have hit the woman on his first try. Insane or not, she was a formidable opponent. Unfortunately, this distraction provided an opening for the waiting Deatheaters. A spell burst from the crowd of masks and cloaks.

Voldemort's followers were bothering less and less with variety as the war progressed. They seemed to be complacent in a twisted monoculture of curses. The unforgivables were almost a death-eater brand- a signature move. So it was unsurprising that the light whirling in his direction was vibrant green. Scrambling, Remus cast a hasty shield charm as the floor rumbled up. The curse hit an earthen wall that burst through the checked tile of hallway floor. Ceramic and dust flew everywhere. Around the wall, red sparks licked the air.

"Thanks." Remus said, glancing to the now standing Van Hohenheim with an appreciative look. The man only turned to the werewolf with something heavy in his eyes before stepping past their new little construct.

"So," he addressed the cluster of masked witches and wizards "I was wondering if one of you would be kind enough to tell me where my son is."

A.N.: so that's that. Get ready for some crazy chasing and problems for everyone. I honestly have no idea what else to say. oh! I did some drawings of less probable scenarios at Malfoy Manor, so you might see a link for that next chapter- sh*t's pretty funny if I say so myself. Also, listen to Blur- Country House. It's oddly fitting for this chapter. Go have fun or something.


	3. Chapter 3

Yoyoyo. Friends, those reviews are solid gold. I will hammer that gold into thinner sheets so that I can make myself the most badass grills that make the span of my teeth spell out "Bad Betch." (With a period. The period is necessary.). I will get all the respect points. Thank you, thank you.

Chapter 3: Gravity and Demolition

Wizards and physics were, apparently, like water and oil. They just didn't mix. This fact brought unlimited frustration to Edward Elric. His subject, Daedalus Diggle was just the right amount of irritatingly ignorant. What really brought Ed's jaw to the flagstones was when Diggle made it clear he had no idea what gravity was.

"You know, there's a reason why things fall." The alchemist arched a brow, voice laden with sarcasm. The man seemed to have reached a great and massive epiphany- as if he was the one to get smacked by the apple.

"I never thought of it..." He jostled their rickety bench.

"My hat! It always fell!"

"As opposed to?" Ed deadpanned

"Floating, of course!"

Steeling himself from any further brain damage, the Fullmetal Alchemist chose a different topic of discussion.

"Have you tried escaping yet?"

Daedalus tittered nervously. "Of course not! Are you thinking of it?"

"Yes."

"Oh!" The wizard squirmed, obviously uncomfortable with such endeavors "S-surely you know! It isn't exactly easy to escape from Malfoy Manor!"

"So you haven't tried."

There was a break in conversation in which Daedalus only looked at his hands with a somewhat ashamed expression. "I haven't tried." He mumbled.

Ed indulged in a smirk and bounced the bench slightly.

"Well, today's your lucky day."

Diggle looked at his cell mate, eyes wide. "It is?"

"Yup."

"How?"

"Because I'm the Fullmetal alchemist, that's how." The older man nodded as if that explained everything.

"So first we get this bench off the wall." Ed stood stiffly and paced before the mentioned furniture like a predator stalking its prey.

"The bench?" Diggle seemed to settle into a generally anxious state, hands twitching and swishing around his head as if keeping up an invisible hat.

"What is the surveillance around here?" Edward ignored the man's worries and thoroughly examined the hardware on the wall. It was funny. Did wizards even need hardware? Apparently.

"The guards?" Daedalus let his arms pause their frantic dance as Ed bobbed his head "Well the guards, they come... They come about every hour- I don't know about night-see I'm asleep then- but yes, during the day the come hourly."

Ed really wanted to rest his chin on his fist but manacles were very uncooperative hand accessories. "Do you know what they use to keep this place secure?"

"Oh, enough spells and charms that the Deatheaters don't have to worry about anyone escaping!"

Another sly grin graced the alchemist's features.

"Any of you magicians, eh?"

"Magicians?"

"They'll have no clue how to deal with an alchemist! C'mon. Lets get this thing off the wall."

And with one smooth, almost graceful motion that seemed to betray the heaviness of Edward Elric's metal limbs, the bench was drop kicked to the floor. Daedalus Diggle fell onto the flagstones with a thump, his violet window curtains twisting around him, while a confetti of splinters rained down upon them. The wizard appeared stunned, practically petrified on the ground. Ed ignored him in favor of finding one of the rusty screws that rocketed off the wall with all the wood. All the while, he thanked the Death-eaters for their easy confidence in otherwise poorly maintained security. They would get it for that hubris, but hey, Ed was doing them a favor. Someone had to show them just how badly they were going about the whole dungeon business- plus, the Fullmetal alchemist was more trouble than he was worth when it came to being someone's prisoner. Really, he was saving them from a lot of headaches in the future.

Finally, Ed spotted the hardware, an earthy orange between the grey of the stones. It was caught in a groove and twisted up in a pile of grit. Numb, gloved fingers fumbled over the fastening. His limbs still ached, very keen on reminiscing over the torture they had suffered. It was a sore reminder to not get caught this time.

"Hey, you mind helping me out here?" Ed asked the wizard who had yet to relinquish the shock that held him after the furniture beneath him had fallen victim to well practiced martial arts.

"What's that, young man?" Diggle shook back to attention and then reached around his head for something that wasn't there. The alchemist was getting downright tired of those vague gestures. They were nothing but annoying.

"The screw." Ed demanded roughly "It's in the crack right here. Get it out for me or we'll never leave this dump."

Daedalus twisted his face into confusion "We're going to..." And then as if the whole concept was preposterous he finished with the most uncertain "...Leave?" Edward ever had the displeasure of hearing.

"Yes! Isn't that what we've been taking about for the last half an hour?" Ed would have thrown up his hands in exasperation if that hadn't been latched into a heavy piece of wood.

"I thought we talked about gra... Grabity. You know. The thing that makes my hat fall down all the time."

"It's gravity, alright? And we are getting out of here right now whether or not you have any grasp on physics."

Diggle just sat before Ed, screw poised between fingers, looking like this was the end of the world. It was snatched from his hand with little elaboration. The Fullmetal alchemist stood and faced the wall. With practiced strokes, Edward scratched a circle into the stone and glanced back at the other man.

"We're gonna have to make this fast. I'll break the manacles and make a tunnel and then we run, got it?"

"We run?" Daedalus squeaked

"Yup. Just follow me."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

With that, Ed put both hands on either side of the transmutation circle. A foot long spike warped from the wall, releasing yet another rain of splinters as it bashed through the solid wood of the restraints. Immediately, the alchemist clapped his hands and a tunnel blasted into existence, plunging through earth like the falling of dominoes. Without even a glance backwards, Ed grabbed Diggle's arm and started up the incline.

And just like that, they escaped from the once inescapable Malfoy Manor.

* * *

The grand entryway of the manor was so posh it only seemed inevitable the Van Hohenheim would do something incredibly destructive to it. Something like upending the great, swooping staircase or dropping the massive chandelier to the tiles, or making the marble floor explode like miniature land mines.

It was also equally inevitable the Van Hohenheim did none of this because he was a pacifist and it was, after all, incredibly beautiful architecture so it would be a shame it simply blast through it like some demolition project.

The easiest, most logical course of action was to continue standing in front of the little wall he made and to leave his hands in his pockets. It wasn't like they needed to come out anyway.

"I was hoping we could sort this problem out reasonably." Hohenheim shrugged and scanned the crowd of Death-eaters with extreme nonchalance. The dark wizards and witches whispered amongst themselves, wands still poised at the intruders. Both werewolf and alchemist caught the mention of "Fullmetal" from the group's muttering. To Remus, it was nonsense. To Van, it was all the information he needed.

"I'll rephrase then." The immortal took a step toward the congregation with little regard for his immortal life "Would anyone care to tell me where I could find the Fullmetal alchemist?"

Remus was not comfortable with this standoff at all. Hohenheim only moved closer to the Death-eaters for each second they left his question unanswered.

"Van." He called after the alchemist. The man didn't turn or stop. "Van!" This time it held some warning. Remus Lupin refused to watch another die in front of his eyes. "They're not going to answer, Van!"

The words went unheeded as Hohenheim stepped over Belatrix's stunned body.

"I would really prefer not to fight." Another step. Remus had to stop this. The Death-eaters weren't what anyone could call reasonable. No one lowered their wands.

"Let's be civilized." Another step, hands unfailingly deep in pockets. Remus was up, skirting the wall, eyes darting, ready for the fight of his life.

"Please-" a half step

"Avada Kedavra!"

Remus couldn't even marvel at how wrong everything had gone so far. All that filled his vision was the green halo of light wavering about Van Hohenheim's silhouette. The werewolf ran towards his partner, but the curse struck, ripping through the small distance between caster and target.

With two words, the immortal Van Hohenheim was dead.

And Remus Lupin was flattened by the body tipping backwards.

Possibly one of the worst places to end up in battle was underneath a fallen friend. There was something beyond physically debilitating about the ordeal. There was a deeper pain to it, literally smashed beneath the weight of death, figuratively struggling to free oneself from the instant grief of losing someone. Remus was terrified, shocked, and floored. Van was dead.

"That was quite a tame way to die." A voice remarked above him. All air left the werewolf. Hohenheim rolled off his friend, very much alive.

"Sorry about that, Remus." He offered a hand and pulled the wizard up as if none of what had occurred had occurred.

It took more than a lot to make Lupin speechless. He was a marauder, a werewolf, a wizard, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix; strange things happened to him on a regular basis.

What had just happened, however, was beyond strange. It was astounding.

The Death-eaters seemed to agree as their little huddle shuffled a great distance back.

"Are you alright?" The alchemist asked the werewolf, oblivious to the fact that Remus should have been the one voicing the question. Only a slow nod came in response and the room was swathed in a deceptively silent cloud of hard breathing, wide eyes, and white knuckles.

"Impossible..." A voice finally gasped, Remus thought it sounded like Yaxley, but awe and fear left it quietly distorted. Really, anyone could have spoken. Briefly, the Marauder wondered if the words had slipped past his own lips.

All eyes were on Van Hohenheim who only looked mildly worried about the attention he was getting.

"I did tell you, Remus. You seemed to believe me at the time." The bashful look he gave the wizard was exceedingly out of place. "I suppose I was a bit vague about everything." An arm slid to the back of his neck and remained there, rubbing awkwardly. Lupin eyed Hohenheim head to toe. The man looked exactly the same as the night they met two years ago.

"How?" A Death-eater asked, aghast. Van only turned and graced them with a frown. After the earlier events, it was a particularly formidable frown. He said nothing.

"What are you?" The roles were switched now: Death-eaters asking the unanswered questions. Remus, still digesting what he had just witnessed, trained his wand on the group. His hand was wracked with minute tremors. This was surreal. There he was, on the most ill-planned mission in Order history, comprehending a man's apparent indestructibility while being threatened by a hoard of curse happy Death-eaters who would be more than pleased to put his head on a pike and call it a party decoration. This would be a story to regale to his child when he or she was old enough to comprehend the absurdity of the entire premise. First, however, the werewolf had to make it out of the death trap alive- hopefully with Van Hohenheim in tow, who seemed understandably blasé about his own impending doom. Lupin figured it was reasonable for Van to exercise such apathy, but the situation was really getting ridiculous. It didn't just sound like a children's' story, it sounded like the start of some horrible joke:

So, this immortal alchemist and this werewolf walk into a country house full of murdering, hate-crime-committing, fanatical supremacist, death cult members...

Selfishly, Remus begged the punch line not to involve his own death. It would be no good to curl up and expire when his optimism over the subject of his unborn child was so suddenly sown and cultivated.

"I'm going to ask again. Where is the Fullmetal alchemist?"

Hopefully something would arise to end the stalemate. Things were going nowhere.

That certain something came in the form of a frantic Peter Pettigrew. He rushed in, a terrified blob of black, silver, and peach, mismatched arms waving, voice shrieking "The prisoners have escaped!"

Van saw something foreign flash in the Remus's eyes- a part of the wizard that didn't match the rest. Something twisted on his lips. Mild-mannered Lupin looked downright dangerous, his gaze chilled to chips of flint.

"Wormtail." Was the only thing the werewolf uttered. Everything about Remus had turned to ice.

"Diggle and the alchemy boy escaped!" Pettigrew gushed to his fellow Death-eaters, ignorant of the altercation before him

"They what?" Lucius Malfoy was recognizable with or without the mask. His words were short and sharp, rage a bubbling mass only inches beneath the surface. "You're telling me they escaped, Wormtail." Malfoy stated lowly "You're telling me they escaped and you just let it happen?" The question ended with a bang. Lucius flung the bottom half of his walking stick down with a clatter, forgetting the quality of wood and finish and lacquer in favor of unbridled anger. "I'm going to kill you." The head of Malfoy house stated simply and pivoted his wand from the intruders to Peter. The other man sniveled, hands clasped begging for mercy and forgiveness.

"Well Remus, this man has answered the question for us." Hohenheim's speech wasn't too different from a commentator at a tennis match. The ever-calm and level headed Lupin must have looked completely spastic next to the man.

"If Edward isn't here then I think it's time for the two if us to leave-or you said you wanted to rescue members if your resistance?"

"Daedalus... Seems to have found a way out as well." Remus spoke slowly, eyes still trained on Pettigrew.

"Then we have no more business here?" Van scanned their opponents. Most had returned to the standoff, only some granting the interaction between Wormtail and Lucius any attention. The rat animagus turned to view the disruption. His lips formed Remus's name, but no sound was heard. The werewolf's mouth straightened to a thin grim line.

"Let's leave."

In the end, it was Remus Lupin who snapped the chandelier from the ceiling and flattened the staircase. It seemed suitable that a man denied the simplest of luxuries was the one to wreck such ostentatious surroundings. The Death-eaters were a capable bunch of killers, but there were simply too many earthen walls protecting their opponents. Many fell victim to Remus's well aimed stunners and hexes. Even more fell victim to sudden sinkholes in the marble that swallowed men up to their necks. All around, crimson sparks flashing spells lit the now dark and dust-filled room. Above all, one could hear Lucius Malfoy's enraged roar of "Pettigrew!". It seemed much of the chaos hinged on the animagus's sudden and inconvenient appearance. Remus may have hated the man, but his intrusion was a blessing. Death had seemed a guaranteed outcome only moments earlier and the werewolf was not very keen on using Van Hohenheim as a human shield-no matter how effective that course of action would be.

Bellatrix came to somewhere in the middle of the calamity, screeching like a rake across a chalk board. Both alchemist and wizard nearly lost bearings in the din and discombobulation. It was like forgetting which way was up and which was down.

Van felt a hand on his elbow.

"It's Remus" the voice matched the statement "Hold my arm." A wand wave cleared a pathway through the dust. Van turned back on the spot for a final transmutation right where the pair had stood seconds before. Satisfied, he followed after Remus.

They escaped.

Lupin was beyond relieved.

Hohenheim had not been in enough mortal peril to feel relieved. A slight furrow settled into his brow. Edward was still unaccounted for and was certainly getting into more dangerous things.

The Death-eaters still conscious and not half-buried were at a loss. Peter Pettigrew was back to being a rat, hiding around the corner from a Lucius Malfoy apoplectic with rage. Bellatrix Lestrange howled to the witches and wizards neck down in marble about "How is it you let yourselves be defeated by some filthy half-breed and his not- dead friend? Why was he alive? Why didn't you kill him?" Nobody cared to inform the ex-Azkaban inmate that they had tried- it just didn't work.

When the dust cleared, what was left of the opulent room was in shambles, covered in a fine layer of pulverized marble and splinters of crystal. The only untouched piece was a new addition: a exact replica of the two individuals who had defeated them. In the center of the Malfoy's grand hallway stood the marble statues of Van Hohenheim and Remus Lupin, both poised for battle.

Lucius strode up to it and screamed into the faces.

Voldemort would not be pleased when he returned in the morning.

By Jove ladies and gents, another installment of the story you're only half waiting for/ hopping it won't take a turn for the worse when rudefool introduces an OC named Crystal Dakota who can do alchemy and magic at the same time with... HER EYES/BOOBS. That actually will never happen. I reassure you such an event will not grace your future. Should I get on my hands and knees and beg for reviews? Hmm... I do have some dignity. Instead, I'll just look at you really hard. Yes you. With the hair. And the nose. I'm looking at you. Review.

No. Go away V-mort. You don't have hair/nose.

Bye.

Rudefool


	4. Chapter 4

A.N.: Hotttt Damn, yo. You all must be reincarnations of the Mayan Sun Gods, or something, because there cannot be any other explanation as to why you are all just SO DAMN BRILLIANT/HOTTTTT. 100% appreciation for all those reviews I have been graced with. Special thanks to ArtisticFantasy who is being way too nice about my writing. Darling, I swear my sentence structure/imagery originates from something possessing me because I am literally half asleep whenever I write. It must be easier for the unnamed creature that dwells in my mind to control my hand when I'm half conscious. I'll accept the compliment of behalf of whatever it is- same goes to everyone else. Thank you!

Chapter 4: Ministry Undesirables Numbers 2, 3, and 4

It was day and the sun seemed unsuitably bright. All around, the light glittered on pavement, golden and blinding. The season had yet to define itself so the air remained a blustery half-chill, whipping shirt collars into faces and tangling men into the lengths of their coats. The wind tasted of wood smoke and burning peat as it whirled over the ground, casting leaves to scratch across blacktop and gravel. Trees stood uncertain and foliage still clung to branches, caught between summer's greenery and fall's color.

They were in the country and for once, surroundings betrayed mood.

Van Hohenheim and Remus Lupin walked along the side of the road, the land around them alternating between forest and field. At the moment, they were traveling parallel to a wide, grassy meadow full of inappropriately happy sheep. The fluffy animals chased one another through puffs of flowers, spreading the musty scent of damp wool. Neither man shared their frolicking joy.

Pebbles crunched under heels. It was a small sound in the otherwise overwhelming silence. Remus was wavering nervously between the upcoming reunion with his wife (and his no doubt livid mother-in-law) and his insatiable curiosity regarding Van Hohenheim. Van was busy worrying about his son who was more than capable of getting into all sorts of potential death situations. Because they were similar in character, neither strived to remedy the quiet. They just let it thrive, like an unfortunate weed-some kind of invasive species.

The road pitched to an incline yards ahead, cresting and disappearing over a gentle hill. Along the curb grew clusters of knot weed and clover. They walked some more.

It was Hohenheim who had suggested they travel by foot rather than magic means of transportation. If the alchemist looked away from the pavement with its painted lines he could almost imagine the path to Resembool that swayed between rolling hills and pastures. Really, a man like him, with so much time on his hands, preferred getting from place to place like this. It gave him peace and quiet to think. And he really needed to think.

Remus reckoned it was harder for the Death-eaters to track them this way. Possibly the biggest (and most shameful) reason he agreed to spend the entire morning walking to the Tonks's house was to put off the inevitable scolding he would get from both the women inside. While Andromeda and Nymphadora were disowned by the Blacks, they still carried that iconic temper. Ted was the one to calmly observe the whole thing with an eyebrow elevated and a slight grin across his countenance. Remus wasn't looking forward to the meeting.

He had to make amends, though, and sooner was better than later. Van was helpful in bringing the werewolf to that resolution. The night before, still jittering with adrenalin, Remus had been thrown off guard when the immortal had made the suggestion. Maybe it was his slightly fragile state of mind that caused him to cave. Harry was right, though. Remus Lupin was a coward. Hohenheim had given him a look laden with far too much understanding.

"You'd think a thing as old as me would know not to leave the woman he loved only because he was afraid of what they created together." Hohenheim let his gaze wonder far beyond their surroundings. He seemed lost in some recollection. It took some time for him to return, but when he did it was with an exaggerated shake.

"Don't make the same mistakes I did." Then, Van's face twisted to a strange, wistful smile "Edward and Alphonse turned out wonderfully, but they seem awfully fond of getting into trouble. I know they would have been a lot safer if I hadn't left."

And Remus was inclined to follow that advice. Hohenheim was full of those kinds of life lessons. It made sense. He was almost half a millennia old.

That was why, hours later, they stood at the top of the hill just above the long driveway that snaked up to the Tonks's house.

Compared to Malfoy Manor, the place was positively cozy, but Andromeda was a venerable woman. Remus was on constant guard in her presence, holding himself like someone had bound a yardstick to his back.

It was obvious his mother-in-law had doubts about her daughter's taste in men.

And Remus didn't blame her.

He was, after all, an inconsolable mess 70% of the time- not that he was a visible mess. Rather it was a very internal and hard to fix sort of mess, which was the reason it could be labeled as 'inconsolable'. Really, the main problem was that it was mostly up to Remus to fix his own issues.

Nymphadora knew her werewolf well. On the outside he appeared all cool and collected, but within he was a churning Charybdis of self doubt. Sometimes the whole ordeal got damn distressing.

The driveway was somewhat useless as the Tonkses had no car, but it may have been some relic of Ted's Muggleborn past. It was a long, winding thing, covered in a colorless gravel. Great dips, were rain and the green of algae and moss collected, marred its length. The day seemed straight of of a John Constable painting, full of clear, dappled light over lush pastures. The sun caught in Van Hohenheim's hair, rippling golden and bright, like a gilded pinnacle between the fields.

It really was a beautiful day.

The house came into view sooner than Lupin would have liked. Hohenheim took this development with a blank face, scanning the building before them. If the physical description of the home could be concentrated to one word, it would be approachable- friendly, too, but mostly approachable. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Remus wasn't feeling the approachable vibe that day. Instead, he simply stood by the large oak that grew about one hundred feet from the entrance, hands so deep in his pockets he was almost positive his finger tips would puncture the bottom seam. Van had no intention allowing Remus this hesitance. In a few, long strides, the alchemist was facing a burgundy door with a high, curtain-obscured window. The werewolf followed reluctantly, shuffling up a set of stairs with minor dread. Van raised a fist, prepared to knock.

The door flew open, a terrific bellow sounding from within. "REMUS JOHN LUPIN!" Came the voice of a highly irate Nymphadora Lupin, nee Tonks. She did not notice Van Hohenheim become a victim of her violent entrance. In a painful recreation of the scene the night before, the alchemist's face had a brief, but very impactful introduction with the front door. He fell onto his rear, looking dazed on the wooden slats of the porch. The glasses, and perhaps the nose they perched on, were once again broken. Forgoing his current fear of wife, Remus chose to kneel down and ask "Are you alright?" as Hohenheim cupped a hand around the afflicted area.

"And who is this?" Nymphadora remained in the threshold sporting a cardinal-like crest of fiery, red hair. Her fists landed on her hips, and her stance was wide and threatening. She was a sight to behold, a woman who could bring Death-eaters to their knees, and did so on a regular basis. For a few silent seconds, both men were absolutely terrified of Nymphadora Lupin.

"Well? I can't afford to be unsuspicious. Who are you and what kind of stupid plan did my idiot husband pull off with you?"

Van remained on the floor, mouth out of working order- either from the blow he received or the fear and awe he felt in the presence of the witch.

"Hmm. No 'wotcher' for me, then." Remus mused off handedly when the question remained unanswered. In hindsight, it was probably a bad choice of words, because moments later a hand met his cheek with a tough slap.

"You bet there's no 'wotcher'!" Nymphadora growled as she curled her fingers back into a ball. There were tears in her dark eyes.

"Do you even know-" she cut off, looking to her husband an enormous expression of hurt "Do you even know how worried I was! I kept on thinking you could be dead! You're certainly reckless enough to let it happen!" She was crying now and in a swift movement, Remus pulled her into his arms. The triad wasn't yet over though, and she punctuated her pain by pounding his chest with a fist and repeating "You stupid man. You stupid, stupid man" between sobs. The werewolf only held her tighter with and whispered numerous apologies, stroking her slowly lightening hair with shaky fingers.

Hohenheim felt suddenly out of place and endeavored to turn his back and give as much attention as he possibly could to the wooden railing encompassing the raised porch. That was the position he remained in for a while, listening as the words grew softer between the couple until they faded completely. It was obvious Remus and Nymphadora were then kissing. How Van Hohenheim wished he could have come back to Trisha, kissed, and made up. It was such a silly thing for a man like him to dream of, but it was such a wonderful thought. He clung to its bittersweet taste- the way it wrapped around his entire mind and stayed until he banished the whole notion for its complete impossibility. Hohenheim gazed beyond the rolling fields, begging for it all to come to actuality while simultaneously chiding that he suffered himself to even consider something like that being real. Un-aging hands clenched over wood. He was a foolish man. A foolish thing. He felt the same brooding wistfulness that accompanied him during the nights back in Amestris when he sat before a fire and stared at the faces of his wife and children, forever joyous on the thin laminate of photo paper. The sensation was caught between comfort and loss. Either way, it hurt.

Melancholy was interrupted by Andromeda as she stomped to a halt inside the doorway in a fashion quite reminiscent of her daughter. She was tailed by a benign-looking Ted Tonks who remained in the shadow of the foyer and didn't bother to wipe the slightly amused grin off his face.

"Remus Lupin. You think you can show your sorry hide at this house?" She had a throaty voice, perfectly low and completely threatening.

"Mum, he's fine. Remus just-"

"Just what, Nymphadora?" Andromeda drew her wand from her robes, eyes trained on the werewolf "Just left you? Like some old dish rag, easy to discard? You don't deserve my daughter."

"Mum, please..." Nymphadora untangled herself from Remus's embrace and approached her mother with a placating hand raised.

"You stain her name, you dog!"

"Mum!"

"Petrificus Totalus!" Andromeda jabbed her wand harshly at her son-in-law. Nymphadora let out a small, dismayed whine as her husband soared off the porch, limbs snapping stiff to his sides. He landed like a tossed board and the glare Andromeda graced him with would have set the werewolf aflame had he really been wood.

Van blinked.

"That could have gone better." He remarked lightly, reminding the family of his presence. Had Remus possessed any control of his frozen limbs, he would have agreed with a sober nod.

"Who are you?" The elder woman demanded sharply as her daughter stumbled off the porch to assist the werewolf on the ground.

"Van Hohenheim." He answered simply and joined Nymphadora as she undid the body bind. Remus was freed, sitting up with a disguised wince and stomping the feeling back into his legs.

"Andromeda..." Lupin looked to his mother-in-law with shame in his eyes.

"I won't hear a word of it." The witch folded her arms in a resolute motion "You have broken my daughter's heart far too many times. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

A resigned expression pulled across Remus's face. It appeared he had no defense. Van was sure the man agreed with Andromeda.

Fortunately, Nymphadora did not.

"He's my husband, Mum! I'll decide how many times he's allowed to break my heart." She tugged a still stiff Remus to her side, looking protective.

"Is two times too many?" He asked, face blank.

His wife's hair was fully pink now, a jovial shade the brought color to her cheeks.

"You're pushing it with two, but I'll have you know, if you get up to four I'll have you castrated." Humor gave her voice a floaty lilt. Nymphadora was smiling up at her husband's face, hand interlocked with his.

"Then it's good news for both of us that I'll keep the count where it is." Remus's voice was that easy warmth Van knew he was so capable of. It was a drastic and pleasant change from the ice that seemed to fill the wizard's veins the night before.

Andromeda huffed and retreated with a frown.

"Glad you could come back, Remus!" Ted Tonks grinned at the couple and threw an arm around the witch beside him "You'll have to tell us what you were up to- no doubt something exciting."

Remus and Van shared a nearly identical look. Last night was exciting, to say the least.

* * *

Edward Elric was dead on his feet. He was so dead on his feet he may as well have been rolling around in a coffin rather than a car. They had been on the run non-stop after the escape from Malfoy Manor early that morning and it was eight in the evening. The amount of time Ed and Daedelus Diggle had spent out, evading Death-eaters was a lamentable number. Really, the Fullmetal alchemist was willing to give up his right arm for a warm meal and a soft bed. Diggle had promised just that, but he lacked the convenience of a wand, which could have gotten the pair to the destination in a far more timely fashion.

So they struggled through dark until the sun rose and then proceeded to struggle in the light until it set. The alchemist and wizard were saved some pain when Edward proposed hitch hiking. All at once Diggle got very excited about the prospects. After two hours of no success the man became equally disgruntled. Ed, on the other hand, had little hope for the endeavor to begin with. It was not apparent whether or not this mindset was beneficial. At least he didn't end up immensely disappointed.

Continuing down the road, Edward concluded that no one would want to pick up a scruffy kid and a man who looked like he massacred an interior decorating shop. A bit of quick alchemy transformed them into somewhat decent members of society. Daedalus was ecstatic as he witnessed such a menial form of the science Ed practiced. He begged for the violet cloak he wore to be transformed into a top hat. The alchemist refused. He doubted anyone would be more inclined to pick up the two of them if Diggle was wearing a stupid hat.

After another half an hour with thumbs out (Daedalus was very confused by the hand gesture and opted to raise his arm high above his head, thumb aloft a couple feet above his head. Ed told him to stop multiple times) in slightly more respectable clothes, the two travelers rejoiced as a mint green microbus slowed along side them.

Inside was a couple and their large, matted, and slobbering English sheepdog. The man had a crop of dreadlocks that competed with the dog's fur, tangle-wise, and a Celtic knot tattoo ensconcing the far side of his right eye. His female counterpart was thin and delicate with a purple Mohawk that seemed to contradict her figure. Twin safety pins were jabbed either earlobe. She grinned at Ed and Daedalus, a tongue piercing clicking against her teeth, as dreadlocks spoke.

"Can we help you, mate?" He leaned out the open window as the car idled in the gravel. Diggle, who the question had been directed to, was struck speechless by the pair and only answered with a wide-eyed look.

"You alright?" The woman asked from farther in the automobile. Still in awe of their potential ride, Daedalus continued to stare. Ed elbowed by the incoherent wizard and leaned on the car.

"We need to get to Ottery St. Catchpole. Can you give us a lift?"

"We'd be glad to." The man gestured to the handle on the side door "Hop on in. Just give the thing a bit of a tug though, the lock's a bit sticky."

The lock was more than sticky. It seemed a victim of a solid welding job, based on the way it refused to budge. Ed was tempted to clap his hands and transmute the thing apart, but the driver sent assistance before he could do anything.

"Wrestle the door for them Cordelia." The mohawked co-pilot climbed into the back and a series of bangs and rattles resounded behind the steel exterior of the minibus. The whole time, dreadlocks affably gave lock fighting tips to his lady friend, Cordelia, who seemed to ignore them with equal affability. The dog barked on the back bench seat, breathing steamy puffs of spittle onto the rear window. Ed briefly considered leaving and waiting for another ride, but an errant thought of an equally strange of even stranger person in the next stopped car halted this decision. At least this bunch was benign in their oddity. Ed didn't fancy hitch hiking with a serial killer or a dairy farmer- those options were rock bottom. Beggars couldn't hand pick from high quality, artisan collections, after all. They were stuck with what they got, and Edward would have to bear with the odd couple and their slightly threatening dog.

"Ah! Got it!" The door slid back on rails with a resounding clatter, revealing the kneeling form of Cordelia and her violet mohawk. Before Ed could even climb in, the sheepdog leaped over the seat and earnestly began attempting to get to the car's newest passengers. An enormous, fluffly muzzle butted out underneath the woman's arm, barking and wiggling from head to toe with the sway of a heavy tail.

"Hey, Serge! No, Sergeant! Stay. I said stay, Serge!" Cordelia's job quickly became wrestling the dog instead of the door. Dreadlocks only laughed and inserted unhelpful canine wrangling advice to his friend.

Finally, after far too long, the dog was back in the farthest chair from the front. Cordelia ushered the two in with no subtle urgency. The door slammed and "Sergeant" was released, bouncing between the two rows of bench seats and splattering an ample precipitate of drool over those sitting around him. Cordelia nimbly climbed to the front seat and out of the splash zone, grinning widely the whole time. Dreadlocks put a foot on the acceleration and they were on the road to Ottery St. Catchpole.

They drove for another two hours, pulling on and off main roads until the lights of the small Devonshire town were visible between the hills. Ed rejoiced. The company, while very generous, had gotten too far under the alchemist's skin. Dreadlocks, also known as Shannon, was a wicked racer of sports cars when they rode stretches of expressways. His desire for speed far surpassed the microbus's which was built neither for aerodynamics or agility. Daedalus overcame his company-related shock a few minutes into the ride and immediately launched into a series of ridiculous questions regarding the automobile. Queries regarding trains, planes, boats, and even helicopters were lumped in with general, car related ones. Diggle seemed especially enamored with the idea of naming boats, and asked about the minibus's name with certain gusto. Shannon answered with a simple "Brenda" and gave no further explanation. Ed was pretty sure the man had just made it up on the spot.

"Fascinating!" Was all Diggle could say as eager fingers skimmed the interior finishes of the car. They drove with the windows down, breathing in the fresh scent of Devon fields. Shannon lit a cigarette as the sun started to sink below hills and the orange tip grew brighter as the light faded to the grey violet of twilight. The moment was dominated by a strange peace. Even Sergeant was calm, head resting, with a puddle of drool, in Ed's lap. He stroked the animal's knotted fur and wondered why big dogs liked him so much.

A short while later the minibus and its passengers were on the Main Street in Ottery St. Catchpole beneath spots of yellow incandescence born in the burgeoning night. The town was caught between staying small or expanding to a decent size, allowing Tescos and McDonalds to sprout alongside local grocers and taverns. Diggle motioned their driver to stop in front the Main Street Tesco and Shannon obliged, pressing a now excited Serge back from the front seat. With some struggle (and perhaps some discrete alchemy) the sliding door was ripped open. Dreadlocks held tight to the dog as it made to follow the wizard and alchemist out onto the side walk. Cordelia only laughed and gave an odd mock salute to Ed and Daedalus.

"Thank you." The Fullmetal alchemist managed to muster as much gratitude as possible into those two words.

"Hey no problem, mate."

"Is there anyway we can repay you?" Ed searched his pockets, only finding what he already knew was there: his pocket watch.

"Nah, we just did what we hope someone would do for us if we were hitch hiking. Karma, I guess." Shannon shrugged and gave the door of the minibus a slap "Pass on the good will, little man."

"Little? What did you-" the car's engine cut off the inevitable rant. With a fleeting glance of dreadlocks, purple mowhawk, and matted fur, the mint green microbus lurched down the street. Daedalus tugged Ed's sleeve and pointed at the automobile's rear reverently.

"Look." There was a name painted in large, scrolling letters below the back window "It says Brenda."

* * *

It took yet another tunnel to get to Diggle's safe house. The paranoia with these wizard people was boundless. Ed supposed it was reasonable caution, though, magic certainly had the capability to be dark and dangerous. So, when Daedalus proposed the method Ed only scowled and did what he was asked to, despite the fact he could totally take on any Death-eaters waiting for the two of them to show up.

It was, however, a shame Diggle's safe house friends didn't want to avoid confrontation, because the moment the two escapees burst from the ground there were at least a half a dozen wands pointed at their little hole.

Ed raised his hands ready for something along the lines of a full arrest. Sheepishly, he tried "... We come in peace?"

The wand tips jabbed further around them, the owners making it clear that Edward's humor was less than appreciated. Upon closer inspection, the stick-wielders appeared to be a group consisting of nothing but red heads, all of a taller than normal stature and sporting ample smatterings of freckles. The oldest of their attackers kneeled down, hand still wrapped around his weapon, and gave Diggle a hard look with eyes shielded by horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Daedalus? Is that you?" The man's stance loosened.

"Arthur!" Ed's ex-cellmate squeaked, emerging from the protective depths of a transmuted purple hoodie.

"Oh Merlin, Daedalus! We thought the Death-eaters killed you!"

Ed felt sufficiently ignored. The group loosened up significantly.

"Wait Dad," another man spoke up. His red hair was pulled into a long pony tail and a wicked looking tooth of some sort hung from an earlobe; Edward thought the young man looked plenty tasteful "what about the security question?"

Arthur's expression of relief straightened to something dark and stoney. "Right. If you are Daedalus Diggle, then you will be able to correctly tell us where you first met Harry Potter."

"I met him in a Muggle shop- I think it was a Sainsbury's." The man paused, sounding as if he was recalling a fond memory "Young Harry Potter was carrying a box of cake donuts, if I recall..."

"That's Daedalus alright." Remarked another red head and all was suddenly at ease. Both intruders were hauled out of the hole, Diggle tittering and attempting to regal his welcomers with a story he wasn't all that good at telling.

"So who are you?" This came from a lanky, leather suit wearing boy. To the left was his double, down to the bronze buttons on the jacket. They grinned simultaneously and Ed felt suddenly wary of their identical mischievous smiles. It was almost creepy.

"Edward Elric."

The name seemed to rouse Daedalus from his unsuccessful story time.

"Oh! Everyone, this is Edward Elric! He's the reason I could escape and he taught me all I know about sciences like Grarity!"

"Which apparently is not a lot." The Fullmetal alchemist grumbled while digging a gloved finger into his temple. The twins let out a synchronized snicker. Ed dreaded the notion of learning to tell the two apart.

"He helped you escape? How?" Arthur began leading the group towards a house that made the leaning tower of Piza look like the architectural epitome of straightness.

To Ed, it seemed as if something very large had cut its Jenga game short. An impossibly unwieldy stack of house parts burst from the fields and marshes that surrounded the building.

"Edward used something called Alchemy!" Diggle gushed to the spectacled one.

"Alchemy?"

"I did say that-or was it Chemistry? ...Or arithmetic?"

"I used alchemy, Daedalus." Ed inserted flatly, caught between being annoyed with the man and understanding how a structure like the one before him could fight the forces of gravity.

"Alchemy? That's not exactly common knowledge. Where did you learn it?" Asked the stylish one with the ponytail.

"My teacher taught me." Was all Ed contributed to that answer.

"Uh... Perhaps you could be more specific?"

"Sorry." The alchemist sounded quite the opposite "It doesn't really matter how specific I am."

"Yes it does!"

"Not here. Now could you stop bothering me?"

Ponytail started, expression affronted.

"Oh William's such an amateur!" The identical redheads seemed to sprout from nowhere, flinging an arm over either shoulder. "Leave the bothering to the experts, Billy-boy." And then they proceeded to introduce themselves.

"I'm Fred- no wait...

"_You're_ George"

"Are you sure? Mum called _me_ Fred this morning."

"Yeah, well she called me Percy at lunch and I'm pretty sure I'm not a pompous git."

Ed's eye twitched.

"Aw, don't listen to those two. George is the one missing an ear. Fred's got both of his." The shortest of their group (not counting Edward and Daedalus) grabbed either twin and pushed them along.

"C'mon, Charlie. You can't tame us!"

"We're not nearly as docile as those dragons you play with!"

They protested, but continued up the front step, keeping their shenanigans to themselves.

"I'm Charlie Weasley and this is the Burrow."

The Burrow, keeping true to its outside, was unlike any house Edward Elric had been in before. Hardly any cool colors graced the rooms, only yellows, reds, and oranges. This made the green of house plants and the light blue of fairy-lights in the hallway exceptionally bright. There was an abundance of knit items strewn about. Cream-colored doilies draped over sofa backs and sat flush beneath table lamps. The interior was bathed in a golden glow, like the light of a welcoming hearth on a holiday card. Edward wanted to feel instantly at home, but refrained from such ideas as he remembered that this was a stranger's dwelling. He did let some of his guard down, though. This place certainly didn't feel like the foreboding halls and dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

It was a shock when Daedalus was assaulted by a bundle of red curls and what looked like a pastel, woolen poncho. Ed blinked. It sounded like a woman based on the noises issuing from the embrace that combined its form with Diggle's.

"Oh Daedalus! We thought you were dead!" It wailed.

"M-Molly!" Was the man's response.

Molly pulled back and put a pair of weathered hands on either of the wizard's cheeks with a watery smile.

"And you're just in time for dinner."

Everyone in the house seemed to be in a state of celebration. Ed felt almost as if he had just returned a lost dog to its worried owners. From what he could tell, this was an open and kind family- a marvelous change from the torture he experienced before his imprisonment. All walls fell away and the Fullmetal alchemist allowed the warmth exuded by the people around to seep into his own being.

"And who are you, dear?" Molly asked. Her eyes glittered with some deep, inborn, maternal love. It reminded Ed of his mother, but the thought brought no sadness or pain aside its remembrance. It only brought further reassurance and warmth.

"This is Edward Elric, Mum." The solid, stout one with the brutal hair cut, Charlie, informed. Molly's eyes suddenly widened. Her rosy face paled.

"Edward Elric?" Came slowly and syllabic. Instantly, she snatched a newspaper off the kitchen table. The leaves were rifled through frantically and a single sheet was held up.

Ed found he was face to face with himself.

It was his picture, done in the style of a wanted poster- no, it was a wanted poster. Above a moving photo of a rather beaten and bruised Fullmetal alchemist were heavy, bold letters spelling 'Undesirable No. 4'. Beneath was his name. It was surreal. Edward was a State Alchemist, never had he imagined himself wanted by a government. The only time the notion ever crossed his mind was after he and Al attempted to transmute their mother. Even then, he was too worried about other things to be truly bothered.

"Huh. A wanted poster?"

"Oh you poor dear! You and Harry, being chased by Death-eaters. You're far too young for something so awful." Molly's voice began patronizing, but quickly descended into something ferocious and protective. Ed didn't doubt she was a scary woman when those she cared for were threatened.

"Eh. It's no big deal." He waved a hand in dismissal, however, something struck him from attempted nonchalance.

"Wait. I'm only _number four_? Who the hell thinks they can beat me at undesirability?"

A moment of silence proceeded in which everyone was given time to comprehend what, exactly, Ed had just demanded.

"Well, Harry's got the number one spot, mate. And sorry to disappoint, but that won't be changing any time soon." Claw earring told the alchemist.

"Okay, what about two and three?"

Before anyone could answer, one of the twins swished another poster in everyone's view.

"Hey! Look's like Messr. Moony has been making mischief!"

Below 'Undesirable No. 3' was a worn and scarred face framed by greying, chestnut hair. The man looked thin and tired, but something flashed in his eyes. Remus Lupin. Ed filed the name away for later use.

"Huh." The paper had found its way to Charlie, who peered at the Ministry's second most wanted man with a decent amount of confusion "I've never heard of number two." The poster was passed to Arthur. The man's brows furrowed over his horn-rimmed spectacles. "Van Hohenheim? Who do you think that is?"

"_What_?" With no warning, Edward ripped the sheet from the wizard's hands. An illustration of his father stared back, looking to his son with a blank face. Golden eyes, golden hair, it was Van Hohenheim, without a doubt.

"That Bastard!" The paper's edges crunched in his fists "Why does he get the number two spot? Oh, I swear, when I find him I'll knock his lights out!"

A.N .: And that's chapter four! Hope you enjoyed. Heads up for next chapter. It's an interlude of sorts, in which the audience finds out what an armored young man by the name of Alphonse Elric is up to. Any suggestions are all the way appreciated. I've also got some straight up "what are you even thinking" quality doodles to go with this fic. They mostly feature Van and Remus bumbling around (and maybe some constipated Sailor Moon) and are products of me being a nerd.

Congratulatory Significant Eye-contact to all,

Rudefool.

Doodles here on my profile chillins.


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